


Between the Madness

by Ghosts_Writer



Series: The line between genius and madness [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:05:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghosts_Writer/pseuds/Ghosts_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Sherlock and John's lives between the cases</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is listed as a story, but each chapter is more or less stand alone. It's not in chronological order and is to be seen outside of chronological order of the rest of the series. Everything is Pre-Reichenbach.
> 
>  
> 
> PS: Look how productive I've been! Installment 2 finished, Installment 3 started, a foreword and a snapshot series started.

If I told you that all the important cases are mentioned on the blog, that would be the truth.  
If I told you that all the important moments between John and Sherlock happened during those cases, that would be a lie. 

When I came to the decision to write about what didn’t make it into the blog, it seemed obvious to use the big ones to tell the story. Now, however, I feel that there’s a gap. I feel that I cannot adequately tell you just how much these two men meant to each other if I only tell you the stories of their adventures.

See, all the people responsible for the publication of this … let’s call it therapeutic memoires, they all tell me that’s what people want to read about. They want to read about John with a gun, Sherlock deducing, Moriarty being a psycho, Lestrade being clueless, Mycroft being condescending, Molly being naive, Mrs. Hudson being a mother hen. They want to read about the adventures, the adrenaline rush and, of course, the sex. I guess all of this was an important part of the relationship between these two men. 

However, there were also the other moments. When John was depressed and sleep deprived from nightmares. When Sherlock was so close to going back to drugs that John (the psychiatrist that worked with drug addicts for a living) considered chaining him to the bed - and not in the good way.There was Lestrade, being a good friend when John had to get out of the flat and talk. Mycroft being a big brother, protective and caring (although Sherlock would deny it to his dying day … actually, he did). Molly was a strong woman, standing up for her friends. And Mrs. Hudson, god bless her, sometimes was the only one to get these two fuckwits to get over their pride and talk to each other. 

Moriarty, though? He always was a psycho, from the day he first appeared to the day he blew his brains out, so nothing new to tell there. 

So, these are the stories of domestic bliss, of pillow talk, or friends and family. 

These are the stories between the madness.


	2. The First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say the three words for the first time

The first night was nothing out of the ordinary, and yet it came as a surprise. Four years after his release from the Army, John had a fairly long and specific trigger list for nightmares. Usually, after a particularly gory case with Sherlock or an especially brutal case of self-harm at work, John knew what was to come and took the needed precautions. 

For example, if he expected nightmares, he wouldn’t sleep in the same bed as Sherlock. The detective had been confused (and maybe a little hurt, though he denied that until his dying day, too) but John knew about the danger. So far, he’d only woken up crying, which would be humiliating but at least not physically harmful to Sherlock. However, he knew of cases in which PTSD patients had killed their partner in their sleep while having a flashback so that was a risk John wasn’t ready to take, thank you very much. 

That night, though, there hadn’t been a trigger. Sherlock hadn’t taken John on a case in two weeks, always stating that the clients only brought him boring things he only took to prove to John that they could live off it alone. Which at that time they did anyway, as John hadn’t been needed for locum work in over a week and nearly nothing in a month. John was actually close to wishing a cold on one of his co-workers just so he’d get a couple of hours. 

So, without anything to trigger it, John was surprised to find himself sobbing and crying in their bed only half an hour after he’d gone to sleep. Only belatedly he noticed that Sherlock had vacated the bed, slipped away from the agitated ex-soldier, to hover by the door, hand on the knob, ready to leave if things turned badly but still softly speaking to John, calming words that took a long time to make sense to the doctor. It was exactly what John had told him to do in such a situation. It was supposed to be an emergency plan. 

_-If you ever hear me having a nightmare, don’t try to wake me!-_

_-John, that’s ridic-_

_-No! Sherlock, listen to me. If I’m having a nightmare, get out of the bed, go to the door. If I make one move on you, get out and lock me in. Do you hear me? I’m not joking around, Sherlock. Promise me you’ll do that.-_

_-Promise.-_

It was never supposed to happen, and now it had. John was still breathing hard, Sherlock, obviously more out of his depth than he’d anticipated, still lingered at the door, only taking careful steps towards his lover.

“John?” He asked tentatively, his voice still soft. “Are you really awake?”

Another couple of deep breaths to calm himself. “Yes.” 

“Are you ok?” 

John couldn’t help the snort. “Do I look ok?”

The silence spoke volumes as it stretched between them. 

“I’m sorry, Sherlock…” John put his hands on his face, hiding from his lover, from the world.

The bed beside him dipped, and a moment later - a moment of hesitation later, cool hands touched his forearms, slowly sliding up to his wrists to pull down his hands. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Sherlock said, kissing away the tears on John’s cheeks. “I knew what I get myself into, didn’t I? When you fall in love with a military man with nerves of steel and an aim to nail a kill shot through a closed window, a man who’s used his medical training to go into war and save lives, a man who’s seen more violence and death than most of the population of England will ever see in their lives and still hasn’t enough … when you fall in love with such a man, you can’t expect him to be without damage. And John, all your scars and all your nightmares are simply proof of all the reasons I fell in love with you.”

John looked at the detective with comically big eyes, the pictures of his nightmare forgotten. 

“What?” Sherlock asked, confused.

“You’ve...you said you fell in love with me...in love… you’ve never, _never_ , used that words before.” The doctor muttered stunned.

Sherlock’s mouth opened, John could already see the denial form in the other man’s eyes, when suddenly it was replaced by something like resolve.

“Yes...I love you, John. All of you. Even your nightmares.” The young man said with a conviction that shocked John to his bones.

“I- I love you, too.” He replied, the words thick and hard to get out. John hadn’t said those words to many people, always keeping them for something special, and yet, he felt like they weren’t enough for Sherlock. There mere fact that he had said them before made them unworthy. However, until he found a better way to describe his feelings, they would have to do.


	3. Bad Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow up to "The First Time"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually struggling to place these two chapter chronologically, which sucks a big deal... I'd say these take place Post-Scandal Pre-Hound. 
> 
>  
> 
> Betaed and Brit-picked by the wonderful BooksOverPeople

(Follow up to Chapter 02: The First Time)

 

His hands were fisted in his hair to the point of pain. He narrowed his eyes, willing them to see the words in the medical text-book before him clearly.

 

Aching muscles? – Check.

 

Memory lapses? – Check.

 

Depression? - Not sure whether cause or symptom.

 

“Did you get to Hallucinations yet?"

 

“If you mean that I read it, yes, experienced-” he looked up to find himself completely alone in the kitchen. He sighed. “...apparently yes.”

 

It was four am, his fifth day on almost no sleep and worst of all, he was alone. Sherlock was out working on some case or another, leaving John home, giving him the chance to catch some sleep. It was all John seemed to be doing, nowadays. The clinic still hadn’t called for him to come in and John was too tired to do anything, really. He’d lay down on the couch and get restless within minutes. He went to bed and stared at the ceiling. If he did fall asleep, he’d wake from nightmares. To top it off, they were getting worse. It wasn’t just the battlefield anymore. It was Sherlock on the battlefield, dying in his arms.

 

It was the scene at the pool, Sherlock shooting the bomb. It was Sherlock lying in a hospital bed, burned to an inch of his life.

 

John was not himself anymore. Even after his return from Afghanistan he hadn’t felt quite this bad. Actually, he had, but back then he could have ended it. It would have been easy to take his gun and sometimes he wondered why he hadn’t. Now it wasn’t so easy anymore.

 

His new found reason just happened to flaunt into the flat.

 

“John! Good thing you’re awake!” Sherlock said excited.

 

The doctor, however, gave him an evil look. “Good thing, is it?”

 

“Most definitely! Oh, John, this is one for your blog. C’mon!” The detective turned on his heels, ready to storm back out the door.

 

“SHERLOCK!” John bellowed, his nerves too thin to care if he woke Mrs. Hudson. The younger man reappeared in the doorway. “I can’t come to a crime scene. Look at me! I’m barely able to stay on my feet, the bags under my eyes are big enough to carry the fucking shopping. I can’t concentrate, my memory’s shit. I’m no use to you there.”

 

“But I need your medical knowledge, John. Lestrade found a new body and-”

 

“Sherlock, seriously, I need to sleep.” John muttered into his hands.

 

“And yet you sit in the kitchen all awake, reading up on sleep deprivation symptoms.” Sherlock pointed out. “Instead of wallowing in self pity you could do something useful.”

 

The doctor’s gaze hardened. “Insulting me won’t get you anywhere.”

 

The sleuth nodded. “You’re right. It’s probably for the best if you stay home. I’ll ask Molly.” Sherlock took out his phone.

 

“Molly?” John asked, suddenly bright awake.

 

“Yes.” Sherlock drawled while typing.

 

“Molly Hooper?”

_The Molly Hooper with the huge crush on you?_ was the question John actually wanted to ask.

 

“She’s very keen on helping me.”

 

_She’s very keen on doing other things with you,_ John thought. “I’ll come,” Was what he said instead.

 

~°~

 

It turned out to be one of those cases that had them run all over London in pursuit of a killer, dodging bullets, tackling someone into urban mud. Once they were home, John divested himself off his clothes and before his head had hit the pillow, he was out cold.

 

He woke up alone in bed, feeling comfortably warm as you do after a night well rested. Usually he was up and alert, that morning though, after several nights without sleep, John felt slow, but incredibly good.

 

When he shuffled into the sitting room, he found Sherlock, dressed in his worn pajamas and dressing gown, and a cup of tea waiting for him by his chair.

 

“Sleep well?” Sherlock inquired with a smirk.

 

“Like a stone.” John replied through a delighted sigh after taking a sip from the perfect cuppa.

“I won’t make that mistake again, then.” Sherlock said cryptically, reaching for the newspaper.

 

John frowned at him. “What mistake?”

 

“Leaving you at home, of course. John, over the last couple of days, I gave you all the time and opportunity to catch up on sleep, and yet you didn’t. I force you to come to a case with me, and you sleep like the metaphorical baby. What does that tell you?” Sherlock asked.

 

The frown deepened on the doctor’s face. “If you want to tell me that I wasn’t tired enough-”

 

Sherlock sighed his ‘I’m surrounded by idiots’ sigh. “No, that is not what I’m trying to say. John, as you well know your PTSD is somewhat … let’s say unorthodox. You do have nightmares about the war, but strangely, those are not as frequent or as intense whenever you are kept busy with cases. I had seen your trigger list when we first started sleeping together and I have seen you cross triggers off that list ever since then. I know I’m breaching your field of expertise here but as the saying goes, apparently you miss the woods for the trees.” Sherlock leant forward in his chair. “After days I came to the conclusion that your insomnia was not caused by your PTSD. It was caused by depression. Said depression was caused by your, almost pathological, need to feel needed. The clinic hadn’t called in a while and I hadn’t taken you out on any cases. Therefore, you didn’t feel needed.”

 

John stared at his lover with his mouth slightly agape. “That’s...brilliant.”

 

Sherlock shrugged. “Simple psychology. You’d have noticed it in any of your patients within minutes. However, as I said, now that I’m aware of the issue, I will not make the same mistake again. I will take you out, no matter how tired you claim to be.”

 

“Thank you.” John smiled, but it faded rapidly as a thought dawned on him. “Hang on. Are you saying you manipulated me into coming? That’s why you said you’d ask Molly?”

 

Sherlock grinned, getting out of his chair. “Your jealousy is plain as day to me, John.” He walked towards the kitchen, stopping to place a kiss on top of the doctor’s head. “It’s one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen.”

 

With reflexes left over from combat training and the war, John easily caught Sherlock around the waist, hooking a leg around Sherlock’s knee and pulling until he had a lapful of struggling consulting detective.

“Adorable? You think me being jealous is adorable?” John’s smirk was almost on the side of feral. “I’ll show you adorable.”


End file.
